According to Him
by eglantine16
Summary: Recently dumped reporter Bella is sent to cover the FIFA World Cup. A chance encounter with sought-after striker Edward Cullen sweetens the pot. "One game changes everything." On hiatus.
1. I Can't Do Anything Right

**According to Him **

Recently dumped reporter Bella is sent to cover the FIFA World Cup. A chance encounter with sought-after striker Edward Cullen sweetens the pot. "One game changes everything."

* * *

_S. Meyer owns Twilight. I own a bag of chocolate chip cookies. Although I love soccer, I am not affiliated with FIFA or any type of sports organization. This little fic is based on the true love story of Spanish goalkeeper Iker Casillas and reporter Sara Carbonero. I don't know them personally. I am taking liberties with both their history and the FIFA WC details. _

**A/N:** I tried very hard not to write this. I tried very hard to concentrate on VG, but you know how sometimes a story just demands to be written? This is one of those. Bella and Edward just wouldn't leave me alone. I hope this makes them happy. The chapter title comes from Orianthi's "According to You." As you may have guessed, that song also inspired the title of the story. A truckload of Hershey's kisses go to my beta _Misty_ and my pre-reader _Siobhan_.

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**Chapter 1: I Can't Do Anything Right**

**BPOV**

I sat numbly in my cubicle, my old pink RAZR open in my hand. I stared down at the screen. The text message looked up at me tauntingly, even though I'd already tried to erase it.

"Stupid God-damn phone!" I breathed angrily, snapping it shut and then opening it again. The message was still there, apparently bent on making itself my wallpaper.

I closed the stupid bright pink contraption that hadn't worked properly since I'd bought it, and threw it against the wall of 'the dump,' as I had affectionately dubbed my workspace at The Seattle Times.

"Oi!" Short black hair popped into my line of view as Alice Brandon's frustrated face appeared over the wall. "Some people have a deadline in twenty minutes, missy!"

"Sorry," I said, my tone as apologetic as I could muster. "I'm just kind of pissed right now."

Alice's brow furrowed. "What's wrong?"

I shook my head, and stuffed my phone back into my purse. "Finish your article. I'll tell you later. We don't need Jake getting a bee in his bonnet today."

"But it's so funny when he does! His eyebrows get all ruffle-y and his forehead's veins pop out in those squiggly lines—"

"Alice…"

"Okay, okay," her face disappeared behind the wall that separated our cubicles, and despite the fact that I was hurt and all sorts of mad, I couldn't help but smile. If there was something that Alice loved about working here, it was pushing Jake-the-copy-editor's buttons. If anything, she procrastinated on purpose just to see his eyes bug out. On more than one occasion, he'd popped a blood vessel because of her.

Telling myself that I had to focus, I took a deep breath and turned to my work computer. Open was an assignment on _Tristan and Isolde_ that was set to open at the Seattle Opera House in a few weeks. Unlike Alice, I did all my work as soon as possible, and even ahead of time if Victoria-the-Boss would allow it. But even with my notes open before me and my fingers poised over the keyboard, the only thing running through my mind was the fucking text from James. What kind of prick breaks up over a text message anyway?

"_Sry bella but i cant do this anymore. ur a useless reporter & not going anywhere. i need sum1 with dedication & who wants what i want. i cant be with you anymore. ill drop off ur stuff at ur place. see u around maybe."_

My insides curdled with the insults he'd thrown at me, both in the text message and in the past. James Lawson was a handsome, successful veterinarian who didn't really give a shit about animals, but who was smart enough to prey on the clueless pet-lovers who did. He charged entirely too much for his services, but was never questioned because supposedly he was the best vet in Washington. We'd only been dating for a few months, and in the beginning I'd been fooled into thinking he was genuine. It wasn't until he started hinting that I should go into television news anchoring that I'd realized something was fishy.

He'd started out slowly, but soon was taking direct stabs at my career in journalism, no longer trying to disguise his insults by saying that sitting in a dusty office wasn't good enough for a girlfriend of his. Long gone were the days of _"You're so pretty, you should be on television!"_ My refusal to get in front of a camera had sparked several arguments and loads of verbal abuse. I should have ended it before it had a chance to get that bad, but I kept thinking that things might get better.

Honestly, the fact that we were now no longer a couple didn't bother me. I was definitely glad that it was over…but I'd never had a healthy ego, and his words stung. He didn't even hold me in high enough esteem to break off our farce of a relationship in person.

I should have been jumping for joy at the fact that I'd never have to see him again, but one word circled in my mind, chanting a mantra in James's sickly sweet voice.

_Useless_.

That couldn't be true, could it? I'd held my own in the academic world, earning good grades and several recommendations from my tiny high school in Forks. I'd succeeded in college, and had obviously been intelligent enough to be hired at one of the best newspapers in the United States.

_Useless_.

Even though I kept trying to see how the word applied to my work and to my smarts, in the very back of my mind, I knew exactly what James had been referring to.

I shook my head, trying to get rid of the prickly feeling that coursed up my spine. I tried to type something about Tristan, but got side-tracked by the thought of James Franco playing Tristan, and ended up deleting the paragraph.

And two seconds later, my computer screen went black.

My mouth fell open in shock as I pressed the power button, praying with all my might that it had just fallen asleep. The computer turned on again quickly, and I breathed a sigh of relief.

_Please be there. Please be there_, I begged my article as I logged on to my work account. To my dismay, I couldn't find the Word document. I checked the computer's trash bin, but no luck.

"Shit…" I whispered, feeling tears prick the corners of my eyes. I opened Microsoft Word again, and again, and again, trying to find that thing that pops up on the side when a document has crashed.

"Isn't this supposed to auto-save?" I felt my voice get louder and louder, and as I leaned my sweaty forehead against the keyboard, that word came again.

_Useless_.

"Bella, what happened now?"

Alice was at my side, obviously having heard me. She poked my shoulder in a gesture that conveyed gentleness in her mind.

"Fucking computer erased my opera article," I mumbled against the space bar. I peeked up at her out of the corner of my eye.

She crossed her arms. "You know you didn't have that much done on it anyway. It won't hurt you to start over. How far were you?"

"One and a half paragraphs…"

"Then what's the big deal?"

When I didn't answer, she knelt down by my chair and poked me again, harder. "Bella Swan, I know something's wrong. Please tell me? Whose ass do you want me to kick? James? What the fuck did he do to you?"

I raised my head, worried that her voice would carry, but the noise of the busy newsroom carried on uninterrupted. "He broke up with me."

"Good riddance," she nodded firmly. "I never liked that bastard much anyway. Don't tell me you're choked up over _him_, of all people, Bella."

"No, not him…_this_." I pulled my phone out of my purse and tossed it to her. She flipped it open, and her eyes widened as she read the offensive text.

"What the fuck is this? Is he really that big of a douche? He thinks you're a bad reporter, but he can't even spell right?"

I bit my lip, glancing at the tiny phone's screen…I hadn't even noticed the fact that he used horrendous 'chat-speak', putting "u" instead of "you" and forgetting every apostrophe until now. What kind of writer _was_ I?

"Maybe he's right, Alice…maybe I'm not good for this job! I can't even keep an article from deleting itself."

"Bella, that's bullshit and you know it. Victoria wouldn't have hired you if she didn't think you were good or up to the challenge. You're a great journalist. You can't take on technology's faults for yourself. You can't help it if your computer has menopause!"

I sighed and closed my notebook, not willing to admit that I'd been too surprised by the text message to see the errors in it. "So why am I stuck doing pieces on opera and museum openings? Why can't I ever write about politics or foreign affairs or the oil spill or something…_exciting_? Obviously I don't have _it_."

Alice sat back on her heels, which was quite a feat, seeing as how she always wore ridiculously pointy shoes. I could tell she was dying to ask me more probing questions, but I gave her the stink-eye, and she closed her mouth. Having been my best friend since my sophomore year of college, she knew when she could push me and when she couldn't.

"Okay. Fine…let's go talk to Victoria," she stood up and reached for my hand.

Leaning my weight back into the chair, I shook my head. "What for? So she can see how pathetic I am, too?"

"No, so that I can make Jake a little paranoid. He thinks I'm still working on my 'Places to Stay in British Columbia.' Has no clue I finished it five minutes ago."

She winked at me, and with surprising strength for such a small girl, hauled me to my feet and dragged me around cubicles, across the newsroom, to Victoria's glass-paneled office.

"Brandon! Get back to your desk!"

Jake's panicked voice rang across the room, but Alice ignored it. I could hear her giggling under her breath.

"You're not going anywhere until you've emailed me that article! Do you realize that I have to read it before it goes to Victoria? We're going to print in 30 minutes!"

I heard a few of our co-workers laughing along with Alice at Jake's desperation. _Poor guy…he's just trying to do his job_. I shook my head. It didn't look as though he'd ever learn that his reaction merely spurred on Alice's behavior.

Irina, Victoria's right-hand-girl, secretary, go-fer, and essential slave, smiled at us and waved us through into Victoria's office without a word. The boss herself was typing madly on her Mac, and continued to do so even as she looked up at us.

"Hi girls," her fingers continued to dance over her keyboard, and I freely admit that I was a little mesmerized. "What can I do for you?"

"Vic, I was wondering if Bella could replace Carmen on the trip to South Africa."

_What?_

I yanked my arm out of Alice's grip. "What are you talking about, Alice?"

"Hush, dear, mommy's talking," she winked at me, and sat on the corner of Victoria's desk.

"Why would I do that? Carmen has been dying to go to Johannesburg. You know what a big soccer fan she is," Victoria leaned back in her chair as her eyes returned to her computer. She stopped typing and started clicking around with her mouse before leaning back in her chair.

"For starters, you know as well as I do that Carmen has mono, and won't be well enough to even get to the airport by this Tuesday…"

Alice and Victoria continued talking…something about how Carmen got infected. I tuned out their voices, not wanting to know the dirty details of our fellow reporter's _extracurricular activities_.

I plopped down into the chair in front of Victoria's desk. I'd known that Alice was going to South Africa in a few days to cover the FIFA Soccer World Cup, but I'd never even considered that I might go.

_Face it, girl…while it sounds nice to get away from all this James drama, you know Vic will never approve it. She likes Carmen better. Besides, you know nothing about soccer…what on earth would you do if you had to write articles about it? _

"What do you say, Bella?"

My head jerked up. "Sorry, what?"

Victoria twirled a strand of her orange hair around a solitary finger. "I think Alice might be on to something here. She's entirely right about Carmen not being well in time for the scheduled flight. Besides, I've been thinking for a while about giving you a few more difficult pieces. How would you like to go to Johannesburg for a few weeks?"

My mind sputtered for an appropriate response. "That's very good of you to offer, but I'm the first one to admit that I don't know the first thing about soccer."

Victoria raised a perfectly arched eyebrow and exchanged looks with Alice. "I had a feeling you'd say that," she leaned forward, and rested her elbows on the edge of her desk, "but you need to remember something. Part of being a journalist is being thrust into situations where you _don't know the first thing_ about what's going on. Part of being a journalist is having the guts to suck it up and be what you need to be. What if I didn't ask you if you would like to go? What if I told you that you _had _to go?"

"Well then of course I'd go, but—"

"Covering a few soccer matches isn't too large of a challenge. But it will tell me if you have what I believe you do in order to cover things like, say…the next Presidential election?"

At that, my ears perked up. Victoria was offering me deal, I just knew it. There was a universe of difference between Washington the state and Washington the capital, but politics were still the driving force behind a great deal of journalists, myself included. While I didn't care for politics in a personal sense, I'd always thought that the public deserved clear and concise information about what was _really_ going on when it came to things like candidates and voting. And although the next election was a while away yet, when Victoria said things like this, one couldn't just ignore it.

I glanced at Alice, and she winked at me conspiratorially. Unsure of whether she'd been planning to ask Victoria all along if I could go to Johannesburg, or whether it was all just a twist of fate, I stood up and held out my hand.

"Deal," I said, my voice even.

Victoria smiled, and stood up to shake my hand. "Deal."

†*†*†*†

_I should have known first class tickets were too good to be true. _

I glared at the empty seat next to me. Even though I'd always wanted to see how the other half flew, I wasn't sure it was worth sitting next to a complete stranger for God-knows how many hours, who would probably want to talk to me all the way to Johannesburg.

It had been four whirl-wind days since Alice had coerced me into going to South Africa with her. The days had been full of looking up weather forecasts and packing and all that type of nonsense that precedes decent travel. I was exhausted from the emotional rollercoaster of James, my writing, Victoria, and packing, but Alice was just as energetic as ever. I glanced over the back of my seat, spotting her in the last row of the first class cabin. She was chatting animatedly with a cute blond man next to her. Alice, of course, was comfortable anywhere and with anyone.

I silently cursed Irina for not making sure that we were going to be sitting together when she'd changed the name on the ticket from Carmen's to mine as I glanced at the adjoining seat.

_Please stay empty. Please stay empty._

I studied my watch. Ten minutes until take off. The airplane seemed to be about full. As the stewardess served me a glass of champagne, I smiled. _Maybe I'll luck out after all._ Settling back into my plush leather seat, I sipped the fizzy goodness and flipped through the airline-provided magazine.

At five minutes until take off, I gave myself a mental high five. My airplane buddy was bound to be a no-show.

_Call me anti-social, but I'm a happy girl._

I finished off the champagne, thanked the stewardess, and reached into the purse at my feet. I'd been able to stuff three books and my iPod in there along with my passport and wallet, despite its small size—I refused to carry those beach-tote looking monstrosities that Alice called purses. I had, of course, ditched the offensive pink RAZR…it wouldn't have worked in South Africa anyway, and why would I want to carry around a reminder of James's complete lack of respect for me?

Just as I was trying to decide between _Soccer for Dummies_, the abridged version of _Anna Karenina_, and that Nicholas Sparks book my mom had lent me, I saw him.

Tall. Lean. _Gorgeous_.

He was shaking hands with a steward, exchanging pleasantries. His hair was what some people might call reddish-brown, but lighter…almost like bronze. He glanced down at his ticket, and then scanned the first class cabin, his bright green eyes coming to rest on the only empty seat.

_The one next to me.

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**A/N: **Thanks for reading. =) Let me know what you think.


	2. Then There Was You

**According to Him **

Recently dumped reporter Bella is sent to cover the FIFA World Cup. A chance encounter with sought-after striker Edward Cullen sweetens the pot. "One game changes everything."

* * *

_S. Meyer owns Twilight. I own a bag of chocolate chip cookies. Although I love soccer, I am not affiliated with FIFA or any type of sports organization. This little fic is based on the true love story of Spanish goalkeeper Iker Casillas and reporter Sara Carbonero. I don't know them personally. I am taking liberties with both their history and the FIFA WC details._

**A/N:** A big thank you to those who reviewed the first chapter, and put this little story in their favorites and on alert. It means a lot. This chapter title was inspired by "Love at First Sight" by Kylie Minogue. I owe a fucking lot of chocolate chips to my beta _Misty_ and my pre-reader _Siobhan._

_

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_

**Chapter 2: Then There Was You**

**BPOV**

The gorgeous man started walking over to me, a slight frown on his handsome face. It was only then that I realized that I was gaping stupidly at him. I probably looked like a complete idiot, and so I swiftly averted my eyes, closed my mouth, and took deep, calming breaths through my nose.

_Chill out, Swan. It's just a man. A beautiful, mouth-watering man. Better to have to sit next to him than some old fat guy who hogs the arm rest, or a woman who smells like cat food._

Even though my gaze was fixed on poor Anna Karenina's face, I was terribly aware of every step the man took. He stopped by our row, and stuffed his carry-on into the overhead compartment. I thanked every saint in heaven that I was sitting by the window so that he wouldn't have to crawl over me to get to his seat.

At that thought, I had a sudden vision of him crawling over me, nipping at my neck and shoulders, capturing my mouth in a passionate, desperate kiss…

I snapped out of my inappropriate trance when he called out towards the back of the cabin. "Hey, Jazz!"

I resisted the urge to look over my shoulder and see who he was talking to. My breath hitched a little at his voice—it was smooth, deeper than I would have imagined, and had a slight foreign lilt that I couldn't quite place.

The seat next to me squeaked softly as he sat down, folding his long legs into the small area. Even though first class was much more spacious than business class, this guy had to be at least six feet tall.

He shifted his weight, and the leather squeaked again as he fastened his seatbelt. My ears heard noisy bed springs, low moans, and wild cries.

Mortified at my thoughts about a complete stranger, I tried to focus on the books in my hands. Finally deciding that I should start cramming some soccer basics into my head, I put the other books away, set _Soccer for Dummies_ in my lap, and tilted my head so that a curtain of my long chestnut hair fell between me and the fantasy-inducing god.

The stewardess came by to offer him a drink just as the captain announced that everyone should remain seated as he was about to maneuver the plane for take-off. "I'll just have a glass of orange juice, please," the man requested, and I fought my head's natural inclination to turn towards him.

"Certainly, sir. It will be served directly after take-off. Here are your napkin and complimentary peanuts. Enjoy your flight," the stewardess simpered. I fumed with uncalled for jealousy.

_Just read the book. Read the book. I have to know this stuff before I can write anything! It can't be that hard. Hard…hard body, hard cock, hard—no, no, don't think about that. Okay, it's just kicking a ball around. Balls...no, stop that!_

"You know, it might help if you open it."

My head shot up to find him watching me, a strange look on his face.

"I beg your pardon?" I asked, because my brain was too busy committing his voice to memory to come up with any other response.

He raised his eyebrows at the book on my lap, gesturing. "Unless you have x-ray vision, you're not going to get it read if you don't open it."

"Oh…" I glanced at the yet unopened tome that announced to the entire airplane that I was, indeed, a dummy. "Yes, of course."

He smiled—a devastating, heart-melting smile—and I was vaguely aware that the plane was moving slowly, on its way to the tarmac, but the majority of my brain cells were screaming in delightful agony, uncaring as to whether the plane ever made it off the ground.

Whether I was spurred on by my sudden raging, irrational hormones, or encouraged by the fact that he spoke first, I'm not sure. But I began talking. And to my utter horror, found that I couldn't stop.

"Yeah, soccer isn't really my thing. But I have to read this for work because I'm going to Johannesburg to cover the World Cup, and if I don't know anything about the damn thing, then I can't write convincing articles, can I? I mean, even if I could manage to BS something, that's not my style, and anyway, my copy editor would be sure to notice, and then my boss would never let me write about the things that really matter, like the President. That's the only reason I'm going, you know; because we had a deal. My boss and I did, I mean. I've never really understood sports much. My dad watches baseball, and that's pretty much my only connection. That, and four incredibly embarrassing years of P.E."

_God, I need to shut up! He's going to think I'm a moron. _

"I'm sorry. You probably didn't want to hear any of that. I usually don't talk this much, especially to people I don't know. I'm actually kind of an introvert, until I get going like this, and then it's diarrhea of the mouth like no other."

_Don't mention bodily functions that involve shit! What is the matter with me?_

James would have sneered and turned away. Chances are he would have requested that different seating arrangements be made. James always did hate it when I prattled on nervously. But this man surprised me when he met my uneasy gaze and smiled. "I completely understand," he said graciously in that non-American, unrecognizable accent.

"You do?"

"Yes. I'm not one for talking to strangers, either. But my job sort of requires it. Are you a reporter?"

When I nodded, he got a funny look on his face for a second, but smiled again. "Those books are just okay. I could probably teach you more quickly and efficiently."

"You think so?" I looked at the dummy on the cover, envisioning my face plastered on its cartoon body. _They should make one of these for clumsy people. "Balance for Dummies."_

"Sure. Soccer is definitely my thing," he flashed his teeth at me again, and I blushed, even though his smile was reassuring. Slowly, I felt the little animals that had been gnawing on my intestines disappear as he pulled a pen from the inside pocket of his jacket and began to scribble on the napkin in his lap.

Just then, the plane's engines roared loudly, and we began to pick up speed. I quickly closed the window blind and shut my eyes.

"Are you okay?" the man asked, concern evident in his voice.

"Um. Yeah. I just hate this part." I gripped the arm rests and tried to breathe evenly. I was fine with flying thousands of miles above ground, but there was something so unnatural about the way my stomach turned over during take-off that made me dread traveling.

I almost jumped out of my skin when I felt a soft touch on the back of my clenched fingers. "If it's not too forward of me, let me offer my hand. It may help with your nerves." The velvety voice was lower, closer to my ear. Without thinking, I let go of the armrest and felt his warm hand envelop mine.

It might be cliché to describe that moment of hand-holding as _electric_. It might be old to say that _sparks flew_. But how else could I express that every single piece of me, every organ, cell, and atom, vibrated with brilliancy at his touch? How else could I depict that his warm fingers both comforted me and electrocuted me at the same time? I gripped his hand ever tighter, forgetting my nausea and fear. The plane could have been upside down for all I knew. All I wanted was that warm hand nearer to me. All I needed were those long, soft digits wrapped around me…If my hold hurt him, he didn't say anything. Not one sound escaped his lips.

The moment was over too soon. As the plane leveled out high in the sky, I opened my eyes. His gaze was focused on my face, and my insides smoldered at the intensity with which he stared. I didn't even know his name, but I felt beautiful when he looked at me like that. I blushed, and glanced at our intertwined fingers. They looked so happy together, laying on the shared arm rest, my little hand swallowed, but not obscured, by his big one. He saw me looking, and with a shy smile, let go of me. "Thank you," I murmured, willing my overactive imagination to back down.

"Anytime," his voice was rough, and I wondered if he'd felt the same spark I had.

With a slight cough, he gestured towards the momentarily forgotten napkin. "Anyway, futbol is pretty self-explanatory, if you call it by its real name." He continued to sketch the outline of a soccer field.

"Football?"

"Not to be confused with your American football…in most places apart from the U.S., soccer is called futbol."

He said it with an intonation that I was sure sounded Hispanic. "Fuut-bohl," I tried it out on my tongue, imitating him.

"Good," he glanced at me, his eyes lingering on my mouth. "All right, so as the name implies, the players are only allowed to touch the ball with their feet. The only ones allowed to touch the ball with their hands when it's in play are the goalies. Of course, one can always use one's head, but that takes a lot of practice. The aim of the game is to get the ball into the opposite team's goal using only said hands and head. It sounds simple, but it can get tricky when it comes to offsides."

"Offsides?"

He pointed out areas on the rectangle he'd drawn. "Yes. The offside rule is the one that many Americans don't understand, since it can be very confusing. It only applies when the ball is past half field, and only when the ball is being played from behind. The rules states that there must be two players from the opposite team between you and the goal before you kick the ball to another player. Otherwise, if that other player makes a goal, it is ruled invalid by the referee."

Noting my confusion, he set the napkin aside. "All right, let me phrase it differently. You and I are on the same team. You are closer to the goal than I am, but I have control of the ball. In order for me to pass it to you so that you can make the goal, there must be two players from the opposing team between us. One of those can be the goalie, but it isn't always. So if you receive the ball from me, but there weren't two players between me and the net, then you have to pass it back because otherwise the goal won't count."

I nodded, trying to focus. "Okay. I think I understand."

"That's pretty much it. There are a few other things, of course, such as penalty kicks, yellow and red cards, and player positions. But those are better explained when you're actually watching a game."

I watched his hand, wanting to feel his skin against mine again. I craved the spark, and licked my lips. "Thank you so much for explaining it to me. I was afraid I would be lost on this assignment." Feeling a rush of boldness, I extended my arm towards him. "I'm Bella, by the way."

His eyes crinkled up in a smile as he shook my hand. "Edward. It's a pleasure."

_It certainly is. _

†*†*†*†

I found out rather quickly that it was easy to sit in companionable silence with Edward Electric-Fingers. The nervous blabbermouth from a few moments before take-off was calmed in his presence. We chatted a little bit about the weather, and he seemed genuinely interested in my career, but he wasn't a pushy conversationalist. It wasn't until we were eating our first class dinners that I had a chance to ask him a little more about himself.

"So Edward," I began, spearing a piece of asparagus. "Where are you from?"

"The accent gave me away, huh?" he sipped his Coke.

"No, not really. I couldn't figure out what intonation your voice has, actually."

He fiddled with his fork, trying to get his pasta to cooperate. "Well, my father is American and my mother is Spanish. I was born in California, but I've spent so much time in Spain that I never really got the American accent down."

"I like it—your accent, I mean." _It's very sexy_. "It's very subtle."

"I'm glad you think so," he winked at me.

My cheeks flushed, but I continued, suddenly wanting to know everything about him. "What's it like in Spain? I've never been to Europe. Actually, this is my first trip out of the U.S."

"Spain, in my opinion, is the most beautiful country. It has such a rich and underappreciated history…a lot of people in America think that all the Spanish ever did was enslave the Indians and have the Inquisition, but those are mere specks in the grand scheme of things. It's a wonderful place. There's nowhere else like it in the world. Well, I suppose the landscape reminds me of California, actually. But with castles everywhere," he chuckled.

"I'd love to visit. But I'm afraid I failed Spanish in high school."

"But Spanish is such a simple language!"

"That's what all the Spanish-speakers say," I retorted, with laughter of my own. "Honestly, all I can remember is _cómo estás _and _mi nombre es Bella_. And for some reason, _lechuga_."

He laughed again, and I reveled in the sound. "_Lechuga_? That's pretty random."

"Well, my brain space is limited."

"You probably just need to practice." He met my gaze, his fork half-way to his mouth. "I'm sure if you were with me, you'd pick it up quickly."

He continued to eat, somehow unaware of the effect those last words had on me. I busied myself with cutting up my chicken into tiny little pieces, trying not to let emotion show.

_He acts like he'll see me again after we land in Johannesburg. Why doesn't that bother me? I mean, I just got out of bad relationship. Shouldn't I need some time off? Why am I perfectly okay with him intimating that we'll see each other again? _

"Bella?"

"Yeah?"

"I think your chicken has been successfully mutilated."

"What? Oh…" He was right. My chicken was in shreds.

"Are you okay?"

I mixed in the chicken with the pasta, still avoiding his eyes. "That's the second time you've asked me that today. You certainly have a vested interest in me," I said, only half joking.

"I do, don't I."

It didn't escape me that he phrased it as a statement.

After our dinners had been cleared by the stewards, I found myself in my usual post-eating stupor. I snuggled down into my seat, trying to find a comfortable position in which to sleep before we arrived for our one hour layover in Atlanta.

"Tired? Would you like me to ask the stewardess for a pillow?"

"Not on my life…" I muttered under my breath. The flirty stewardess was eye-fucking him enough as it was. _Not that I have any claim on him_.

"What's that?"

"No, thank you. I probably won't sleep even though I'm tired. I always have a terrible time resting on airplanes."

"I'm sorry. Spaniards can pretty much fall asleep anywhere. That's why we have the _siesta_."

I wiggled around some more in my seat. "That's smart, if you ask me. I'd love a nap every day."

Edward's hand shot out and grasped my shoulder. I tensed, automatically assuming something terrible was wrong. "What is it?" _Oh please, don't say there's a spider or something. And please never take your hands off me again. Mm._

"Please stop writhing like that…" he said softly. "It, um…does things to me."

I should have been shocked. I should have left and gone to barricade myself in the bathroom. Instead, I stopped moving, remarkably unphased by his confession. "Sorry. I'm just not comfortable."

His hand relaxed, and he leaned his seat back as a far as it would go. "I've heard my shoulder is pretty comfortable. If…that's okay."

My heart jumped, and I needed no second invitation. Maneuvering my own chair back, I disengaged my seat belt and curled my legs up underneath me before tentatively settling my head on his shoulder. I couldn't help but pull in a deep breath, and was rewarded with his scent. Peaches and lemons and outdoors…and _Edward_.

As I drifted off to sleep with the dull growl of the airplane in the background, I could have sworn I felt him turn his head closer to mine. I may or may not have felt him inhale deeply, his nose nearly buried in my hair.

I might have heard him whisper "_Fresas…_" before sleep claimed me.

* * *

**A/N:** Thank you for reading. What do you think of Strikerward so far? (Yes, Edward plays the forward position.) Those who review get a teaser in their box. :)

Here's a little Spanish glossary. And I do speak it fluently, so everything here is authentic.

_cómo estás_—how are you?

_mi nombre es Bella_—my name is Bella.

_lechuga_—lettuce

_siesta_—nap or afternoon rest

_fresas_—strawberries


	3. Anyone or Anything

**According to Him **

Recently dumped reporter Bella is sent to cover the FIFA World Cup. A chance encounter with sought-after striker Edward Cullen sweetens the pot. "One game changes everything."

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_S. Meyer owns Twilight. I own a bag of chocolate chip cookies. Although I love soccer, I am not affiliated with FIFA or any type of sports organization. This little fic is based on the true love story of Spanish goalkeeper Iker Casillas and reporter Sara Carbonero. I don't know them personally. I am taking liberties with both their history and the FIFA WC details. _

**A/N:** Thank you so much to all of my reviewers! I'm glad you're enjoying ATH. Hugs and kisses and all sorts of gropes to my beta _Misty _and my pre-reader _Siobhan_ for getting through this so quickly. The chapter title was inspired by "Amazed" from Lonestar. Even though E and B aren't even near the depth of relationship-ness (yes, I did just make that a word) that is described in that song, I felt the title was appropriate. More (long) notes at the bottom, if you care to read.

* * *

**Chapter 3: Anyone or Anything**

**BPOV**

I was warm and safe. Deliciously drowsy. A heavy weight was thrown across my shoulders, and something was resting on the top of my head. Whatever the weights were, they made me feel safe. Peaches, lemons, and summertime scents were disrupted by that unmistakable airplane smell.

_Oh._

My eyes fluttered open, but I dared not move. Edward and I were cocooned together, our arms wrapped unceremoniously around each other. His cheek lay against my hair, and while his breath was soft, it was rapid too. Edward was awake.

I felt a slight twinge of alarm at the fact that I was so comfortable with a man I barely knew, but it was quickly eclipsed by my elation. I was being cradled by the handsomest man I'd ever seen. I snuggled closer, unable to stop myself, uncaring as to what he might think of me and my morals.

_Hi. I'm Bella. I cuddle with strangers._

"Good evening, sleeping beauty," his voice was a purr in my ear.

"Hi," I responded, forcing myself to pull away. As I straightened up, I caught his gaze. Those brilliant green eyes glowed at me, and I blushed.

"Sleep well?" he asked as he slowly removed his arm from its place around my shoulders. I immediately missed the contact, and by the look on his face, so did he. I couldn't bring myself to lower the arm rest, but I don't think he minded.

_What's come over me?_

"Yes. Did you sleep, too?"

"_Sí. Muy bien._"

My insides simmered delightfully at the Spanish, and I wondered if he knew how sexy he sounded speaking it. I was dying to ask him to only speak that to me from now on, even if I didn't understand a word he said.

"I was out like a light...you know, I've never actually slept on a plane before," I admitted as I adjusted my wrinkled blouse. "Thank you."

"No need to thank me. I enjoyed that nap very much."

The sixteen year old inside me started doing cartwheels, screaming at the top of her lungs.

_He enjoys sleeping with me!_

I told her to hush up before my face turned the color of tomato soup permanently. "Where are we?" I resisted the impulse to curl up against him again.

Edward pressed a few buttons on the touch screen TV on the back of the seat in front of him. "The map says we're about a half hour from Atlanta."

"Sweet. Um...do you think I could squeeze past you real quick? I have to, um..."

I paused. How do you tell a guy that you have to pee? James always hated it when I said anything about bathrooms.

"...have a human moment?" Edward filled in for me. "Certainly," he stood up and offered his hand to help me out into the aisle. As I stood up and reached out to take his hand, I realized how tall he really was. Mesmerized, I didn't look where I was going, and before I knew what hit me, the carpet was staring me in the face.

I closed my eyes, bracing myself for both impact and embarrassment. Immediately, a pair of hands that I was starting to recognize and crave grabbed my arms, keeping me from falling and making a complete fool of myself in front of the entire first class.

"Watch your step," he said softly.

I opened my eyes to his concerned expression. James would have reprimanded me for being so clumsy. Edward was good enough to help me, and not say anything to make me uncomfortable.

I murmured a quick thank you and headed to the water closet between first and business class.

_Calm down. God, I need to stop comparing him to James. Edward is so good and sweet, how can he not be taken? He probably has a Spanish beauty waiting for him somewhere.  
_  
Even with the deluge of thoughts occupying my mind, I could feel his eyes on my back as he watched me walk away. In a very un-Bella way, a silly smile plastered itself on my face, and I added a teasing swing to my hips.

_I wonder what _that _will do to him_.

The first class cabin was small, so it only took a matter of seconds to get to the restroom. It was located right behind Alice's and the blond man's row, so as I passed I shot her a smile. She scrambled to her feet, and stood with me in line for the commode.

"Bella!" she whispered frantically in that way that only Alice can. "Did you see him?"

Assuming she meant the gorgeous electric god, I scoffed. "I'm not blind, Alice. He's sitting right next to me, for goodness sake."

"Not him, butter brain. Jasper..." she sighed dreamily; I took a good look at her, and realized that her eyes were glazed over. It was the look she got when she watched George Clooney movies, only magnified.

Jasper..._Jazz_. _Was that who Edward called to before take-off?_

"Jasper who?"

"The man sitting next to me. Bella, he's so perfect. He's sweet and a total gentleman, and has the cutest accent!"

I raised my eyebrows, moving forward as the line got shorter. "That's pretty much the description of the guy sitting by me."

"Oh, Jasper told me all about him. They're cousins. I guess our seats got switched or something, because they were supposed to sit together. But thank God for mistakes, huh? Bella, he's absolutely wonderful! We've already made plans to see each other in Johannesburg."

Even as I was praying that Edward would want to see _me_ in Johannesburg, I shook my head. "You've only known him for a few hours, Ali. Do you really think that's a good idea?"

Alice leaned against the wall so that a steward could get by. "I could ask you the same thing."

I played dumb. "What are you talking about?"

"Don't give me that look, Isabella Swan. I saw you guys, all cute and sleepy together. I know when you're smitten. But I'm not the one who just got out a really terrible relationship. You are. And just like you want me to be careful with who I date, I want you to be, too. You don't know Jasper's cousin any more than I do. Right?"

"Who said anything about dating?"

"Bella…"

I nodded reluctantly. "I'll be careful, if you will be, too. Deal?" I offered her my pinkie in the solemnest of agreements.

As we pinkie swore, Alice grinned. "Boy-related lectures and questions included?"

"Sure."

"Juicy details?"

"Alice..."

"Okay, okay. Deal."

†*†*†*†

Edward held my hand again as the plane landed at Atlanta International Airport. As much as I wanted to hold on to him for as long as I could, I made myself let go.

Having never had a layover before, I was fully expecting to just sit on the plane and wait for new passengers to get on. It turned out that Edward was well traveled, though, and knew pretty much everything. Apparently we actually had to switch planes, which worried me, but he explained everything, and even offered to guide me through the process. I jumped at the chance, fantasies of Edward being my teacher and me being a student in need of certain lascivious after school activities running through my head. It took all my self control not to jump him in the middle of the airplane.

As we exited, I glanced back at Alice and Jasper. She was hanging on his arm, and he smiled down adoringly at her. _Hmm._

Edward followed my gaze. "That guy is my cousin, Jasper. He and I were supposed to have seats together."

"The girl is my best friend, Alice. We work together at the Times," I added.

"Well, it certainly looks as though they got along well. They must be glad our seats were mixed up."

"So am I," I said honestly, even as I looked away, hiding my pink face.

"Hey…" Edward said, his soft voice a huge contrast to the loud terminal into which we had emerged. I made myself look at him. "Me too."

I exhaled a heavy breath, one that I was completely unaware that I'd been holding in. _That must mean he's single. _I smiled, feeling a little more reassured about this strange connection we'd formed.

Following the signs that directed us to our new terminal, we made our way through the immense airport. After a few moments of scurried walking in companionable quiet, Edward coughed under his breath to break the silence. "Bella?"

"Yes?"

"I hope you don't think this is terribly forward of me. I mean, considering everything, we've only known each other for, what, four hours? Five at the most. But...I mean, _you're_ going to Johannesburg, and _I'm_ going to Johannesburg, and maybe it's just me, but..."

I stopped walking, my heart fluttering. He halted too, and looked back at me. I hoped he was going where I thought he was going. "It's not just you," I said, praying that I wasn't jumping ahead of myself. People continued to move past us, in the usual half-run-half-walk that one sees at airports, but I didn't even notice them. I had eyes only for the man in front of me.

A beautiful smile spread across his handsome face, and he reached back a hand to pull me alongside him. We continued walking, my fingers tingling where they touched his skin. "Do you think that we might see each other in Johannesburg? I'd really like to get to know you better, Bella. Unless, of course, you are committed to someone back in Seattle. In which case, please forget my intrusive proposition."

I shook my head adamantly. "There's no one. I thought that maybe...you had someone?" I hated that it came out as a question, but there it was.

"No. I'm single."

"Good."

"Yeah."

Our words were small and couldn't contain the excitement that I felt building up in my chest. Maybe it was because I was a writer by profession, but I suddenly wanted to find phrases that could adequately describe the precise way my breath caught in my throat, the way his strong fingers felt against me, and how desperately I'd wanted to kiss him ever since I'd laid eyes on him. I was suddenly very tempted to find a thesaurus in one of the gift shops.

"Then would it be all right for us to exchange cell numbers?"

I grimaced. Cell phone = James the Prick's text message.

"I left my cell in Seattle. It's old...it wouldn't have worked in any other country, except maybe Canada. And maybe not even there."

"We'll have to fix that," was what I thought he said, but when I asked him to repeat it, he just smiled. "I'll give you my number," he answered, and my insides both knotted up and loosened in relief.

We eventually found our terminal, and were surprised to see that Alice and Jasper had beaten us there somehow. Alice was cuddled up on Jasper's lap, and she looked at me apologetically. "Hey," she mouthed at me.

"Hey," I whispered back, setting my purse down on the seat beside her. I began to mentally chastise her for such an exhibition of PDA with a guy she barely knew, but then I remembered that Edward and I had been curled up together not that long ago, and that brought on a blush, which made me want to hide my face in Edward's shoulder. I almost did, too.

Alice unfolded herself out of Jasper's arms and sat on the armrest. "Bella, this is Jasper Hale. Jasper, this is my best friend Bella Swan."

Jasper stood up to shake my hand, which had me slightly taken aback. _What is this, Pride and Prejudice?_ "Nice to meet you, Bella," he greeted me with a slight Southern twang.

"Ditto." I couldn't help but smile at him. He was tall, like his cousin, with bright blue eyes that sparkled and just made you inherently trust him. It was easy to see why Alice was so taken with him.

"And you are Alice," Edward shook hands with the pixie, and she studied his face.

"Good to meet you, Edward. You know...now that I see you up close, I can't help but feel as though we've met before."

Edward's corresponding look to her inquisitive one was strained. "I don't think we have, miss."

"Please, call me Alice. I have a feeling we'll be seeing each other," she winked at me, as I turned away to study the patterned carpet.

"Well, I believe we have about 45 minutes left before boarding. Bella, would you like to walk around for a little bit? We'll be sitting for several hours," Edward set his carryon down next to my purse, exchanging a nod with Jasper.

_Gorgeous, courteous, and considerate. Thank you, God, for making me sit next to him. _

"Sure. Alice, do you mind watching our stuff?"

"Of course not. You two go ahead," Alice pulled Jasper back down onto the seat and hauled her tiny body into his lap again.

We ambled through the airport, Edward keeping a close eye on his watch to make sure that we wouldn't miss our boarding time. He asked me question after question about where I'd grown up and gone to school, and I wondered if his tongue had been loosened by my admission at being single. He certainly hadn't been quite this talkative on the plane, but I didn't mind. I liked talking to him. He didn't make me feel awkward or uneasy. I answered all of his questions truthfully, even if they dredged up embarrassing memories, like when I'd tripped in front of the whole of Forks High during our graduation ceremony.

Time seemed to pass more slowly with Edward. While the other airport people were in a rush to get by, to walk as quickly as they could, the two of us moved slowly, our fingers brushing against each other once in a while. At one point, Edward pulled a pretty silver Blackberry out of his pocket to take a picture of me. I would have said no had it been anyone else, but for him I smiled as he snapped the photo. He saved it, promising that it would be my contact picture for when he finally got my number.

On our way back to the terminal, my eye caught a gift shop sign. I remembered the $20 I'd stuck in my pocket before leaving my apartment, and I touched Edward's arm. "Can we stop for a second? My mom and I have this weird thing about buying a magazine whenever we're in an airport where we've never stopped before."

"Certainly!" he ushered me into the store with an eagerness that had me feeling as though he liked to spend money. I groaned inwardly. He and Alice would be sure to get along wonderfully.

It was a large shop, littered with candy bars, cell phone travel chargers, and _I Heart Atlanta _paraphernalia. I headed toward the back, perusing the magazines. Edward picked up something with a sleek black car on the cover, and started flipping through it. I was about to grab the newest issue of _Cooking Light_ when I saw it.

My hand froze. My breath froze. I swear, my heart fucking froze, too.

After a second, my hand moved of its own volition to the copy of _Sports Illustrated _that someone had left with all the cooking magazines. Normally, I would have huffed a little about people not putting things back where they'd found them. But I grabbed it with shaking fingers, and studied the cover. I blinked furiously. It couldn't be. But it was.

"Bella? Are you okay?" Edward's voice broke through the haze of my shock, and I looked up at him, my face burning with a mixture of embarrassment and anger. "What's wrong?"

My jaw tensed. Wordlessly, I held out the magazine that announced "Predictions for the World Cup: Will Spain Reign?" in bold letters. He glanced down and his eyes widened when he saw the picture; the picture of him, in the red and gold soccer uniform of _La Furia Roja_.

* * *

**A/N: **Thank you for reading. Good? Bad? Let me know what you think. Reviews = teasers.

I don't own _Sports Illustrated_ (they really did run an article on WC predictions) or _Cooking Light_ (I do read it, though). And for the record, I've only been in the Atlanta airport once. It really is crazy huge (that's what she said).

I've been getting some questions regarding the sports and the Spanish in this fic. Yes, there will be more soccer stuff coming up, as well as more of Edward's sexy Spanish. *wink*

For more teasers and general nonsense, visit my blog at www(dot)eglantines-ramblings(dot)blogspot(dot)com. ATH has a pretty new banner that you can find there. You can also follow me on twitter (at)nani_eglantine.

Regarding the status of Vampire Goddess, here's what's going down: once I get about 2 more chapters into this story, I will switch off between it and VG, probably every other week. I'm not positive, but I'll try to keep those of you who follow VG informed.

Be sure to stop by The Twinklings Community! www(dot)thetwinklings(dot)blogspot(dot)com. We're a pretty fun place to be. =)

Here's your Spanish for today.

_Sí. Muy bien._—Yes. Very well.  
_La Furia Roja_—The Red Fury (the nickname for the Spanish National Football Team)


End file.
